


Backup

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22535344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Leo’s home late.
Relationships: Leo Manfred/Gavin Reed
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	Backup

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Gavin’s not a romantic. Sure, he _likes_ sleeping with other people, likes having the extra warmth in his bed, something big to cuddle with, _especially_ something he can rub any unexpected midnight boners against—assuming they’re awake and down—but he’s perfectly fine being alone in bed too. It’s nice to have the whole space to himself, to be able to roll from end to end without smacking into someone’s sweaty back, to not get scraped by jagged toenails or have to deal with a blanket hog. It means if he gets hard there’s no chance of a sleep-addled lay, but at least he can jerk off. And he doesn’t have to be quiet about it like he would if they weren’t down. So it’s weird to wake up in the middle of the night and be _annoyed_ by the reminder that his bed is empty.

It’s not like they’re married or anything. It’s not like Leo’s got an ankle bracelet on and isn’t allowed off the premises, although that’d be totally hot if he was. They both come and go, and Gavin even _thinks_ Leo still has his old apartment, although he might’ve been evicted already over nonpayment. Which means if he’s not in Gavin’s bed, he’s out on the streets. Which makes Gavin want to go down to the car and get on patrol. He holds back because Leo’s a grown-ass man that has a right to be wherever the hell he wants past midnight, and Gavin knows firsthand that trying to smother someone with good intentions only pushes them further away. His salty approach tends to catch way more flies than honey. 

He’s bizarrely relieved when he hears the muffled groan of the apartment creak. Maybe he should be alarmed, because it could be a burglar, or worse—maybe a rogue android broke in and wants to shove a coffee mug down Gavin’s throat on Connor’s orders. Except the bedroom door slides open, and the dull hall lamp backlights Leo’s silhouette. Leo sneaks towards the bed, not _quite_ steady on his feet, but that could just be because his balance is shit and he might be exhausted.

That or he’s high. But Gavin’s gotten pretty good at knowing when people are blazed. He has an even better handle on what Leo’s like both ways, and the fact that Leo’s clearly trying to be quiet is a big enough indicator that he’s sober. High-Leo doesn’t give a damn if he pisses Gavin off. 

Maybe Gavin should just shut his eyes and drift back to sleep, but he doesn’t. He pushes up on his elbows, letting the blankets tumble down his chest and pool in his lap. Leo freezes, glancing over at the groan of the bedsprings. He’s got his jacket halfway off his shoulders. His beanie’s still on—Gavin’s always liked that stupid hat. It makes him look even cuter than usual.

Leo mutters, “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Gavin grunts, “’S fine,” and yawns. He’s not being sarcastic, even if his voice is rough. There’s no spite in it. He doesn’t exactly like having his sleep interrupted, but it’s better than waking up in the morning to Leo in his arms with no idea how that happened. He’s a cop. He’s _supposed_ to have good enough senses to notice when someone’s in his apartment.

Leo looks at Gavin for a moment, and Gavin squints back through the dim light. Everything looks different in the dead of night. Suddenly, it’s more noticeable that Leo’s gone too many days without shaving again. His stubble’s worse than Gavin’s. Leo seems into men with stubble. Gavin doesn’t like getting scratched when his boyfriends go down on him. Leo’s clothes are all disheveled too, like someone else has been trying frantically to get them off him. Gavin’s fairly confident Leo wouldn’t cheat—not even for another hit—but he still doesn’t like the mental image.

Maybe Leo misreads that look, because he defensively hisses, “I’m not high.”

Gavin’s hackles rise at the tone, but he forces himself not to raise his voice; that only ever makes things worse. With Leo, he actually _cares_. “Didn’t say you were.”

Leo frowns. He opens his mouth, but closes it, then turns away to finish stripping out of his jacket. He drops it right on the floor—neither of them is particularly neat. Back turned, he mumbles, “Sorry.”

“Where’d you go anyway? Thought you were staying after dinner...”

“Just a walk. Needed fresh air.”

It’s freezing cold outside and the weather sucks. They don’t exactly live in a picturesque neighbourhood. Gavin bores holes into Leo’s back. The detective instincts are flaring up again; he knows when someone’s lying to him. 

Fumbling out of his belt and socks, Leo turns around. He sees Gavin’s glare and wilts so easily. Sometimes he surges right back up, other times he deflates like a winded balloon. It doesn’t take any more prompting for him to admit, “I was gonna go to my dealer.” Gavin’s glare intensifies, but Leo hurriedly adds, “But then I remembered I had you waiting for me, and... I didn’t.”

“Good.”

Leo snorts. He looks more upset with himself than Gavin is. “Good? I went to my fucking dealer...”

“Did you actually make it there?”

“No, but—”

“Then good.” Gavin shouldn’t have to say anything else. It’s not like he ever expected Leo to be an angel. Frankly, he’s surprised rehab worked as well as it did. Leo clearly still suffers from cravings and withdrawals, but that’s to be expected, and Gavin knows enough not to blame him for it. The concrete choices are what matters, like walking away before it’s too late. Leo looks at Gavin and seems to appreciate that total lack of judgment. 

He drifts towards the bed, and as soon as he’s sitting down, he’s on Gavin—leaning in to wrap Gavin up in a hug too tight for how late it is. Gavin yawns into Leo’s shoulder and returns it. When he’s done, he pecks Leo’s cheek and mutters, “You’re doin’ okay.”

Leo mumbles by his ear, “It’s so _hard_.”

“I know.” He pats Leo’s back. “One day at a time, babe. And this one’s over.” When he extricates himself, Leo begrudgingly allows it. Gavin snuggles back under the blankets, and Leo joins him, sticking close to Gavin’s body like Gavin’s internal heat is what’s getting him through. Gavin stretches out across the mattress, and Leo plasters to his side.

Leo hums, “Thanks, man. Knowing my own boyfriend would lock me up for stumbling is a strangely good motivator.”

Gavin chuckles and yawns, “Any time.” Seriously. He’s got the handcuffs.

And if he could handcuff Leo to his bed forever, he probably would, romance be damned.


End file.
